


Peyote for Pyros

by daoinhe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood, Blood Magic, Cutting, Drug Use, F/M, Hallucinogens, Sadomasochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoinhe/pseuds/daoinhe
Summary: Just two pyros, in the desert, doing drugs, worshipping their suits...





	Peyote for Pyros

Sniper looked up from the disassembled gun in front of him when the soft knock came at the door. He’d been cleaning his guns, knowing that he would have hours of uninterrupted time, and now this. With a sigh, he scooted his chair back and went to the door, placing his hand on the knob. “Yes?” He asked, his voice soft. The soothing smells of gun oil and beer surrounded him, he breathed in deep and detected the hint of tobacco smoke. 

“Let me in, my friend. This is important.” Spy’s soft voice outside caused the tension to ease from his shoulders a bit. He turned the doorknob, allowing the door to swing wide and walked back to his seat, picking up a piece of soft cloth and the small bottle of gun oil. 

Spy stepped into the motorhome, eyes automatically moving from side to side to make certain they were alone. He walked over to the small table and fastidiously eyed the gun parts spread out on a cloth. “It is good to know that you clean something.” He said at last. 

Sniper glanced up at him, then back down to the small bits of metal in his large hand. “I didn’t let you in here to criticize my housekeeping, Sneak.” The corners of his mouth turned up, knowing the reaction he would get from using Spy’s pet name. 

“Sneak, eh?” Spy huffed deep in his throat and bending his long legs, settled into the seat across the table from Sniper. “Our Pyro is gone again.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve followed it into the desert, but I would like your help tracking it.” 

Sniper looked up, grey eyes meeting crystal blue ones across the table. “Why does this matter so much to you. Let Pyro keep its secrets. There’s nothing out there that it can hurt.” 

Spy shook his head. “You don’t understand, mon ami. I have to know. I want to know. If you help me, I will make it worth your time.”

Sniper’s eyebrow arched upward. “Really?” He leaned back in his chair, his hand drifting down to rest in his lap. “So, let me get this straight. If I help you track our teammate, the one you cannot track on your own, you will do something for me that will make this all worthwhile.” He grinned lazily, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And it will be something that you don’t already do for me.” His hand brushed over the cloth covering his groin. “That doesn’t leave you many options, Sneak.”

Spy winced. “I know. But I will think of something. Please, Sniper, I don’t ask for favors often. But I have to know where it is going.”

Sniper sighed to himself and began reassembling his gun. “You know I can’t tell you no, Sneak. Let me get this back together and we’ll go.” He glanced up from his task, hands moving from memory. “You are armed, right? I doubt Pyro would hurt us, but you never know with that crazy.”

Laying the reassembled and gleaming gun on the table, he reached to the side and grabbed his boots, pulling them on. “This is not the way I’d planned on spending our day off, just so you know.” He muttered in a low voice. 

“I know, and I am sorry.” Spy looked contritely at the table. “But it’s disappeared every night for the past two weeks, and no one seems a bit concerned about this.”

“Other than you, no one is a bit concerned.” Sniper frowned. “I still don’t like invading it’s privacy like this, Sneak.” He held up a hand. “I’ll do it, for you, and when you find out that Pyro is going into the desert and looking at the stars or something, you’re gonna feel like an ass.” He grinned like a cat. “An ass who owes me.” He clarified.

Spy nodded. “Trust me, it will be worth it.” He said as he stood and followed Sniper out the door.

 

 

The desert air was cool and crisp around them, the night was full of small sounds. Sniper followed Spy to the place where he’d lost Pyro’s tracks, in a stand of creosote. Sniper muffled a sneeze at the pungent scents in the air. He bent over, beginning to unravel the story of Pyro’s tracks from the desert sand. A small rodent scurried away from his approaching footsteps as he started off to the west, then doubled back on himself, turning east. Sniper frowned. 

“What is it?” Spy’s voice was soft. 

Sniper chuckled. “It really doesn’t want to be found.” He lowered his head a bit closer to the ground, then stood straight and sniffed the creosote laden air again.

Spy felt something pull tight in his groin, the sight of Sniper shedding his cloak of civilization was always fascinating and exciting to him. He muffled a grunt of surprise when Sniper took off at a trot, heading west. 

The pair had walked, trotted, and at times slowed to nearly a crawl for the past hour as they followed the trail deeper into the night. Finally, Sniper held up a hand and motioned to a low rise of stone ahead. “Close.” His voice was a gruff whisper in the night. Spy nodded. Together they began to creep toward the rock formation. After a moment, Sniper held up his hand, motioning for Spy to wait, and dropped to his belly. Crawling through the sand, he slowly and silently crested the small hill that the rock formation sat on. He stifled a gasp as his eyes tried to take in the scene before him, then turned and motioned for Spy to follow him. Within moments, Spy was lying beside him, stretched out in the sand, peering over the top of the small hill. His eyes darted from side to side in confusion. Sniper risked a glance at him, knowing that his face would be alight with curiosity, then turned back to the scene in front of them.

There was a small depression in the earth on the far side of the hill. A fire burned cheerfully in its center, and not one but two of the thick asbestos lined suits were hung on racks made of wood. The red suit and the blue suit faced each other across the fire, the masks hung at the tops of the racks making them look as though they were still inhabited. A breeze blew across the sand, causing the flames to leap and flicker. The suits seemed to move on their own in the firelight. 

The owners of the suits sat in the sand facing each other beside the fire. A Navajo rug was spread out beneath them, cushioning them from the hard ground. They were nude, the woman tall and shapely, large breasts hanging like pendulums. A phoenix tattoo covered her back, its wings arcing around her ribcage in flame colored stripes. Her face was heart shaped and lovely, framed by chestnut curls. The man was tall and dark, his skin glowed like burnished copper in the firelight. His ebony hair was pulled back in a braid that hung to the small of his back. His dark eyes gleamed in the firelight. He was stirring a clay pot that sat in the coals of the fire. Leaning back a bit, he reached over to the female pyro and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers caressed her cheek, then slid gently over her lips. Leaning in, his lips brushed over hers. She returned his kiss warmly, her hands kneading the muscles of his back, her pale skin in sharp contrast to the bronze darkness of his. 

Pulling back from her, he wrapped his hand in a rag and reached into the fire to remove the small clay pot. He poured a thick dark liquid into a small bowl and sat the pot near the fire. He whispered something to the woman, their words muffled by distance and the chirping of crickets. 

Sniper turned to Spy and leaned in close to his ear. “Which one is ours?” Spy shrugged slightly. 

“What are they doing?” The whisper was so faint, Spy barely heard it. He shrugged again, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. 

The male pyro picked up the small bowl and blew across the top of it. Steam rose from the top in lazy curls, dissipating quickly in the chilly breeze. He chanted in a strange guttural language, then leaned closer to the female, peering into her eyes. He sipped from the bowl, then handed it to her. She sipped also, handing the bowl back to him. He placed the small bowl carefully on the ground, then lay back, gazing up at the night sky. The female pyro lay down beside him, eyes trained upward also.

Sniper and Spy exchanged glances. What the hell was happening? They settled down to watch the two stargazers. Time seemed to stretch out, crickets chirped in the brush and a desert wind soughed around them. The minutes passed. Finally Spy leaned over and whispered into Sniper’s ear. “Do you think they’re asleep?” Sniper shushed him as the tall man below them rolled to the side and stumbled to his feet. 

He staggered to the Blu suit hanging on the wooden rack and stood before it, tall and straight. Raising his hands in a gesture of supplication, he began to chant in the same guttural language he’d used earlier. He spoke to the suit for several moments, seeming to be pleading with it, then turned and spoke to the Red suit. The blank reflective eyes of the masks winked and twinkled in the firelight. 

Falling silent, he tilted his head to the side, appearing to be listening. He turned from the masks and approached the blanket the woman lay on. Kneeling beside her, he put a hand on her stomach. She raised her head and looked into his eyes. With a sweeping gesture of his free hand, he said something too low for the watching mercenaries to hear. Then, leaning to one side, he pulled a faded and tattered backpack toward himself. Digging in it with one hand he pulled out a knife, the long blade glittering orange in the firelight. 

Sniper gasped and started to rise, but Spy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

The man stared at the blade for several moments, then murmuring softly to the woman, he drew it across her shoulder and down one breast. A thin red line marred the surface of her skin almost immediately and the man leaned further down, his pink tongue darting out to lap at it. She drew breath in sharply, almost hissing. Her arms went around his shoulders, and her hand cupped the back of his head, pressing his face against the long wound. 

Sniper looked over at Spy, bewildered. “Watch.” Spy whispered. 

Below them, the man lifted his head from the woman’s breast. Leaning back on his knees, he drew the knife down the other side of her torso, drawing another small gasp from her. Lowering his head, he licked up the line of fresh blood like a cat lapping at spilled milk. His hand trailed from her stomach to rest on the mound between her legs, long fingers massaging her there as he suckled the blood from her breasts. He drew the knife across her skin over and over, covering her in shallow cuts. Soon, her arms, her legs, her torso all ran red. She lay still, not trying to fight him. A small mewling noise was coming from her throat, caused by the pain of her wounds or perhaps, Spy thought, by the man’s fingers which had dipped between her legs. She quieted as her blood soaked into the blanket, and then into the earth beneath it. When even Sniper’s sharp eyes could barely detect the rise and fall of her chest, the man reached into the faded knapsack again, bringing out a health kit. He broke it open and a warm glow blanketed her. Her wounds closed up, leaving her whole and unscarred, her skin painted in her own blood. 

Sniper’s breathing was growing faster as he watched. When the man below them positioned himself between the woman’s legs, he hissed faintly and shifted his body in the sand. Spy narrowed his eyes and looked over at Sniper. Sniper was so intent on the scene spread out before him that he didn’t even notice. Spy shrugged to himself. Leave it to Sniper to be turned on by the savage bloodiness of the pyros. Spy looked away briefly and it occurred to him that Sniper had never watched him with the intentness he was displaying now. Spy sighed and continued to watch.

The man moved over the woman, her body writhing under him, hips thrusting up to meet him. Little sounds of pleasure came from her open mouth as he pounded into her. The sound of their bodies thrusting together was a rhythmic thunk that silenced the crickets. Suddenly her face contorted and she howled as her body arced like a bow. The man drove himself into her a final time, muffling a grunt in the side of her neck. He collapsed onto her, not moving for several seconds. His hand caressed her face shakily, tracing her features in the night. She murmured sweet words to him, her arms cradling him. The tenderness in their gestures was obvious. 

Finally, the man rolled off her and reached into the backpack, pulling out another blanket. He carefully shook it out, then spread it over her. Laying a few more pieces of wood on the fire, he climbed under the blanket with her, spooning her tightly to his chest. With the backpack for his pillow, his arm for hers, they lay quietly. Soon, light snores reached the two watchers ears. 

Sniper turned to Spy, the wildness slowly receding in his eyes. He pointed his thumb back toward base, his intent unmistakable. Spy held his finger up, a wait motion. Sniper frowned but nodded. Spy stood slowly, touched his watch, and was invisible. He ghosted quickly toward the camp, his shoes silent on the packed earth. When he was standing at the edge of the firelight, he paused to look around. The suits and masks, from down here, reflected the light and shadow oddly. They seemed to undulate on their racks. The smell of blood and wood smoke mingled in the air. Spy took a deep breath and reached for the small bowl sitting beside the fire. He dipped the corner of his handkerchief into it, absorbing some of the liquid, then began to back up. The couple before him did not stir as he slipped away. 

When he returned to the hilltop, he re appeared beside Sniper and tucked the handkerchief into his pocket. Sniper frowned at him, but started to walk quickly back to base. When they were out of hearing range of the campfire, Sniper looked at him oddly. “What are you gonna do with the handkerchief, Sneak?” Spy frowned. Was that a note of reproach he heard in Sniper’s voice?

“I plan on giving it to Medic. I want to know what was in that bowl.” 

Sniper nodded slowly, seeming to be debating something in his mind. “Did you figure out which one is our pyro?” 

“No. Even close, they are nearly the same height. If she is binding her breasts, they will not be obvious through the suit.” He shrugged. “I can’t tell you which is which.”

They made it back to base and Spy took his leave of Sniper, heading inside.

 

The next evening, Spy went outside, knocking on Sniper’s door. He was barely inside the van when he began to talk. “Medic analyzed the sample I took. It would seem our friends are going into the desert and ingesting peyote. From what we saw last night, I think they are worshipping their suits.” He took in a breath. “Medic would not tell me whether our pyro is male or female.” He sat down at the table, watching Sniper wash dishes. “I tried, mon ami, but he is remarkably close lipped about it.” 

Sniper shrugged. “It’s fine. If I know you, you’ll figure out a way to tell them apart.” He shook his head slightly, then stared out the window into the night, wondering how to get rid of his lover so that he could go into the desert again.

**Author's Note:**

> For some time now, I've played with the idea of what would happen if Pyro were given hallucinogenic substances. Would it make it normal somehow? Or would it just increase the general weirdness that makes Pyro the character I find most intriguing in TF2? This was my attempt to get the idea out of my system. Let me know what you think! Also, thank you to Meridious for proof reading!


End file.
